


The Duel in the Water Gardens

by LadyRhiyana



Series: The tale of Squire!Brienne [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dorne, Gen, Jaime and Brienne's great Westerosi road trip, Jaime is Brienne's mentor, What's Past Is Prologue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22016134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRhiyana/pseuds/LadyRhiyana
Summary: Brienne and Ser Jaime make their way through the Red Waste to Sunspear and the Water Gardens.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister & Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: The tale of Squire!Brienne [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1171460
Comments: 23
Kudos: 96





	The Duel in the Water Gardens

**Author's Note:**

> I have strong opinions regarding Jaime's trip to Dorne in season 5. So here is my preferred alternative.
> 
> The details of the geography and peoples of Dorne were sourced from "The World of Ice and Fire".

**Chapter One**

**

The morning after Ser Jaime’s hushed confession at the Tower of Joy, they rise to a burning dawn and a clear, cloudless sky. 

“Where next?” Ser Jaime asks. 

They flip a coin. Brienne wins. 

“Sunspear,” she says, her eyes shining. 

**

They go south, venturing further into Dorne. They follow the Prince’s Pass through the great red mountains, following in the trail of Daeron Targaryen’s conquering armies, past Kingsgrave and the soaring stone towers of Skyreach, whose lords had once styled themselves Kings of Stone and Sky. 

“A grandiose name,” Ser Jaime says with a grin. 

Brienne huffs out a laugh. “No more so than ‘The Kings of the Rock’. You would think there is only one rock in all of Westeros.” 

“To the Westerlanders,” Ser Jaime says, “there is.”

When they leave the Prince’s Path they join a merchant’s caravan, trading their light tunics and breeches for even lighter flowing robes, and venture into the Red Waste. The sun beats down on them like an anvil, and even dressed in flowing linen, with veils drawn across their faces, Brienne’s white skin reddens and peels and her freckles redouble. Most unfairly, Ser Jaime’s skin only darkens to a rich tan that makes his eyes brighter green than ever. 

Long, long days they spend crossing the desolate red sands, mirages dancing and shimmering in the burning days, the stars so bright in the freezing nights that they look like frozen jewels. 

There is a terrible beauty in the desert, an unforgiving purity to its vast unknown emptiness that makes her aware of how very small and insignificant she is, in comparison. 

At night, the wagons draw together and they light tiny campfires against the night. 

“The world is very big, isn’t it,” she says, lying on her bedroll and looking up at the great vault of the heavens. She had never before realized how very many stars there are in the sky.

Beside her, Ser Jaime laughs softly. “Bigger than King’s Landing or Casterly Rock,” he replies. “Bigger even than the Seven Kingdoms.” He seems to hesitate. “When I was younger,” he says, “just after – Aerys, I wanted to run away to the Free Cities, where no one knew or cared who I was, or what I had done.”

In the darkness, with the stars high above, they could be the only two people in the entire world. “Why didn’t you?” she asks, greatly daring. 

For a long time, Ser Jaime is silent. And then he only sighs. “She wouldn’t come with me,” he finally answers. 

** 

They travel with the caravan for what seems like forever. Time loses all meaning in the desert; all days blend into one day, and all nights into a vast blur of stars. They move slowly, crossing the sands from oasis to oasis, hidden well to hidden well, sometimes travelling in company with the nomadic, desert-dwelling Dornishmen. 

The Dornish nomads, breeders of the fabulous sandsteeds, compliment her on her own sandsteed, Honour, and some of the wild young girls challenge her to a race. It’s the fastest she’s ever ridden in her life, her mount swift and tireless, and she gives in to the wild exhilaration of it all – blue sky, red sand, the horse flying below her and the blood pounding in her veins. 

Afterwards, they invite her to eat at their camp. The food is richly spiced and heaped with dragon peppers. To wash it down, they introduce her to a potent spirit brewed from the juice of desert succulents, and mixed with drops of snake venom. 

She regrets it very much the next day. 

**

Finally they come to the Greenblood, the lifeblood of Dorne, and there they part ways with the caravan and take passage on a pole boat carrying trade goods to Sunspear. The sight and smell of water after so long in the desert is intoxicating; Ser Jaime strips off his dust- and sweat-stained robes and jumps into the river, laughing and golden. 

The captain and crew of the pole boat – lithe, olive-skinned women wearing flowing breeches and sleeveless wrapped tunics – watch him with unabashed interest. 

“That one is yours?” the captain asks Brienne in a rolling, lilting accent.

“No!” Brienne squeaks, blushing. “No, I’m only his squire. He’s – we’re not –” 

The captain only laughs. 

Two weeks they spend on the Greenblood. As they pass out of the desert, the lands grow increasingly inhabited, farms and orchards crowding the river’s banks. Soon they begin to pass other pole boats laden with trade goods, crewed by olive-skinned sailors who speak with the same rolling lilt. The crews call greetings to each other as they draw near, passing on news and gossip and warning of hazards up ahead. 

The sailors have their own version of the snake-venom spirit. At night, they gather on deck beneath the stars and sing – rollicking river shanties, bawdy folk ballads and old songs of their Rhoynish homeland, lost many centuries ago.

** 

The captain calls out to them when they are within sight of Sunspear. “Look,” she says, indicating two points of gold in the distance. “Do you see? The Tower of the Sun, and there, the Spear Tower. The first thing all travellers see as they approach the city, by land or sea.” 

As they draw nearer they can see the exotic silhouettes on the skyline: the towers domed in the Rhoynish fashion, and the great defensive Winding Walls that encircle the fortress and wind throughout the shadow city. 

The shadow city below Sunspear is like a fabled city out of legend. All her life, she’d heard tales of the maze of narrow alleyways filled with thieves and cutthroats, of the great bazaar filled with exotic spices and rich cloths and strange goods from faraway places. 

She steps off the pole boat and into another world. 

** 

Brienne spends an enchanted afternoon wandering through the bazaar, lost in the exotic colour and richness of it all. She samples all manner of foods from the street vendors – by now, she’s become accustomed to the taste of dragon peppers and snake venom – watches the players and the street performers and listens enthralled to the singers and the musicians, the music so strange to her ears. 

She buys twists of saffron and cloves and nutmeg, an exquisite glass vial of some dizzying perfume, and can’t resist the luxurious richness of a bolt of deep blue sandsilk, soft beneath her rough, calloused fingers. 

Ser Jaime trails after her, patient and amused, and doesn’t point out that she has no use for such things, that her money could be much better spent. He is a Lannister of Casterly Rock, and such thoughts would never occur to him. 

As the sun begins its westward journey in the sky, a mail-clad knight in a rich silk surcoat meets them, bows, and invites them to accompany him to the fortress as honoured guests of Prince Doran Martell. 

** 

**Chapter Two**

**

Brienne steps and whirls, faster on her feet than she’d ever been before, the spear in her hand light and darting. She lunges, quick and deadly, but her opponent only laughs and knocks her spear away, sweeping her feet out from beneath her and dumping her to the ground. 

A good-natured, laughing groan comes from the on-lookers. Ser Jaime laughs and calls encouragement.

Brienne groans, winded, but laughs it off and accepts the hand Obara Sand offers to help her up. 

“Not bad,” the fierce bastard daughter of Prince Oberyn says, smiling. “You’re getting better and better. Now – show me again.” 

“Lady Brienne,” Prince Oberyn himself says, strolling over from the sidelines, “if you will allow me?” 

Brienne dusts off her flowing breeches and short, sleeveless wrapped tunic. The Sand Snakes had provided the Dornish dress to her on her arrival. Men and women are equal here, they’d said. Women can be warriors, if they so choose, and lords in their own right; all the freedoms given to men are granted also to women. 

_All_ the freedoms, they’d said, grinning salaciously.

“Here,” Prince Oberyn suggests. “Like this.” He puts his hand on her arm and guides her through the correct movements; she breathes in the scent of rich spices and leather, and for a moment is so distracted she doesn’t even register when he puts his hands on her hips. Even through the thin single layer of her tunic, she can feel his warmth and strength. 

“Now,” she finally regains enough attention to hear him say, “remember, all strength, all power comes from the hips, for a woman. Try again.”

Obara knocks her to the ground on the first pass. 

**

Prince Doran had brought Brienne and Ser Jaime with him as his honoured guests to the Water Gardens, a desert paradise created by a long-dead prince of Dorne for his Targaryen bride. “For I grow old, and weary of the dust and heat,” he had said in his rich, mellifluous voice. “I like to spend my days amongst the beauty and wonders of the gardens.” He’d sighed. “They remind me of happier times, when my sister Elia still lived and the world seemed so full of promise.” 

He’d slanted a look at Ser Jaime, who had only smiled with pleasant, empty courtesy. 

Old hatreds died hard, and old ghosts still lingered.

Still, the truce of the Water Gardens held. On their first night, Prince Oberyn had been inclined to test and taunt Ser Jaime, but Prince Doran had managed to keep the welcome feast from ending in bloodshed. 

** 

“Ser Jaime Lannister,” Prince Oberyn calls, when Obara finally tires of knocking Brienne down. “Will you try your skill against me?”

Ser Jaime smiles pleasantly. “Alas,” he says. “I don’t aspire to your skill with the spear.” 

Prince Oberyn shows his teeth. “With the sword then.” He leans in and whispers something to Ser Jaime, whose smile vanishes. 

The atmosphere suddenly shifts. 

“By all means,” Ser Jaime says, stepping easily into the practice yard.

A squire tosses tourney swords to both Ser Jaime and Prince Oberyn. The prince makes a comment about not turning his back on Ser Jaime lest he receive a sword through it unawares. Ser Jaime asks the squire if he should check Prince Oberyn’s blade for poison. 

There is a low rumble of uncertain laughter. 

Both men stride out to meet each other in the middle of the yard. Ser Jaime is golden and beautiful; Prince Oberyn is dark and saturnine. Together, they are two of the deadliest and most infamous warriors in Westeros. 

They start slowly, testing each other out, before Prince Oberyn strikes, swift and deadly. Ser Jaime parries and steps back. “Is that all?” he asks. “Lady Brienne can do better than that.”

They come together again in a flurry of blows. This time it’s Prince Oberyn on the back foot, Ser Jaime attacking with a wild grin. “Ha,” the prince says. “It seems my uncle taught you something after all. But not enough –”

He launches an unrelenting attack, and Ser Jaime meets and matches it. Brienne watches on in awe at their speed and skill, her blood thrilling to the dull ring of the tourney swords, to the roaring of the onlookers and the fierce intensity of the two rival swordsmen. 

Neither is willing to concede an inch and they circle and slash at each other, all pretense of civility stripped away. Brienne is too caught up to notice anything but the duel, but her attention is finally caught by a roaring, deep-throated shout. 

_“Cease this madness!”_ she hears Areo Hotah roar. _“Put up your swords NOW!”_ Mail-clad guardsmen in Martell livery pour into the practice yard and forcibly separate the two combatants.

“Enough of this!” Prince Doran says, leaning on his cane and staring wrathfully down at Ser Jaime and Prince Oberyn. “The Water Gardens are a place of peace!” 

**

Many a man will say, afterwards, that they were present at the Water Gardens on the day that the Kingslayer and the Red Viper fought. In truth, on that blazing hot day there are perhaps only fifteen or twenty looking on; the tale grows in the telling, and as the years pass assumes almost mythical proportions.

** 

“Why did you let him goad you?” Brienne asks Ser Jaime much later that night, in their newly assigned chambers as far away from Prince Oberyn’s as possible. There is a guard outside the door, just in case. “Didn’t you tell me, once, that words are wind?”

“Some words are wind,” he says, deliberately light. “Some words are dangerous. And others are – painful.” 

“What did he say?” She is genuinely curious now. Ser Jaime so often shrugs off the many slurs thrown at him by his detractors – ‘Kingslayer’, ‘oathbreaker’, ‘false knight’ – that to see him bite back is unusual. 

But this time he refuses to answer.

** 

The next day, Prince Doran summons them before him and politely suggests that they have worn out their welcome in Dorne. 

“And if I were you, Ser Jaime, I would not come back,” he says. “We Dornishmen have long memories.”

Ser Jaime’s smile twists. “Of course,” he says, bowing his head.

“Lady Brienne.” Prince Doran regards her curiously. “You, however, are welcome. Perhaps one day when you are knighted, you will choose to return.”

She bows her head, just as Ser Jaime had – but with far more sincerity. 

“Now, go,” the Prince of Dorne orders them. “There will be a mounted escort waiting to take you to the first northbound ship, no matter where its’ next port of call.” 

He makes a regal gesture of dismissal, signaling the end of the audience, and they are escorted out of his presence. 

** 

And so Brienne and Ser Jaime are thrown out of Dorne.


End file.
